For You, A Thousand Times
by LadyAshliee5869
Summary: 'For you,' Castiel's voice rings in his ears, and he looks back down at those eyes, that man in his embrace, 'for you, I would fall a thousand times.' Everything has gone to hell, and Dean is so very tired. Is this what second chances look like?
1. Chapter 1

Hello all! This was inspired by a tumblr post by **madpornaction**:

_'I want Cas to come back as human and he'll find Dean and be like "Hello, Dean" and Dean will be like "CASYOU'REALIVE" and will hug him and ask how he survived and Cas will be all "I fell" and Dean will be like "what?" and Cas will be like "I fell, Dean. I fell so I could be with you."'_

Characters: Dean, Castiel, mentions of Bobbert and Samtini. There will be more characters later on, but this will be updated by chapter so you guys aren't spoiler'd.

I have no idea how long this will be, what the plot is aside from the next few chapters, how things will turn out. I really have no idea. Either way, I plan to have fun with it.

I hope you like it! If you have any suggestions or questions, lemme know. :)

I also have a tumblr and a livejournal, if anyone wants either of those.

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><p>Dean should be sleeping.<p>

The taste of whiskey on his tongue, the rough scrape of uncomfortable motel blankets on his skin, and the ache weighing on his chest are preventing him. Sammy isn't here, opting for midnight jogs to calm the sharp pain of the wall crumbling inside him. Dean doesn't know who he's kidding, trying to sleep. He knows he won't. Images of Bobby and Cas flicker through his mind, piercing his eyelids with jabs of hurt, the utter desperation of being alone.

He's alone, and if he hadn't been branded since he could walk to keep fighting, he'd be wishing for death. Bobby took a bullet, Cas...well. And Sam. Sammy, his little brother, his mind was breaking. Cracking under the strain of a sacrifice he shouldn't have had to make.

Dean gives up, turning onto his back and opening his eyes, looking up at the water stained ceiling. Who would be there when Sammy couldn't do it anymore? How would Dean go on hunting with his baby brother slowly turning into a fucking vegetable in the passenger seat? The angels weren't around anymore; Dean wasn't dumb enough to make a deal with a demon, not now. So he's all that's left as his life decays and he spirals into booze and women and missing his family. Missing his father, and Bobby, and his baby brother, and his...

Not his. Cas, not his. Just Cas. Cas had chosen to try his hand at God-ing up the place, and look how fucking well that turned out. The one person Dean thought was gonna get them all through this, and he'd made an even bigger mess. He meant well. He wanted to help, and Dean can almost picture the earnest determination in the moments before the souls took their place inside. Before Leviathan sprang forward to claim Cas as its own. Dean's fingers tightened around the sleeve of the worn trench coat he was using as a pillow.

'Cas, you bastard.' The words spill from chapped lips, and Dean isn't gonna cry, no, he's fucking _not. _Cas is _dead. Gone. Forever. Get the fuck over it. _

Dean doesn't like the nighttime. He doesn't like these moments of silence, where he's free to breathe like Bobby isn't, like Sammy can't, like Cas never will again. He hates that he spends the time lying on a shitty motel bed, dwelling on all the crap he's lost. The darkness closing in, all he can hear is his own breath that's slowly turning into hitched half-sobs. Nope. Dean's not doing this, he's _not._

He sits up, and swings his legs over the side of the bed, staring bleakly out the window. His baby is in the parking lot, reflecting the lot lights overhead. Maybe driving would do some good. Anything to get him away from the smell of booze and the temptation to cry until he couldn't breathe.

He stands, and doesn't even bother with his jacket, or a note. His cell is in his pocket, keys too, and if Sam really gets that worried, he could call. Dean throws the door open and strides out into the cool midnight air. The smell of rain surrounds him, but it's not humid, so he doesn't even care. It's a bit like freedom, to not be surrounded by anything. No walls. Just a few cars, an empty highway, and the motel at his back. He stands for a moment, and breathes it in. The last true moments of peace he knows he'll have. When will he get the chance again to stand outside and breathe?

His steps are slow; he moseys across the lot to where he's parked her. The one good thing he's got left, the Impala. She'd been gone for so long, and when Dean had walked out of the room Sammy had found them, seeing her there was like seeing a respite. Driving faster than he could get away with, windows down, Metallica kicking its way out of the speakers; he'd taken her for a spin and only come back because Sammy had called him. It'd been home, and Dean had been carefree in that moment. He didn't question where she'd come from, how she was there, so perfect and shiny, he'd just gotten in, inhaled the smell of leather and cigarette smoke and family, and gone.

Trailing a feather light finger along the driver's side rearview, he stood to admire the shine on her roof.

His hand was on the handle when he heard the noise.

It was almost like feet hitting the ground, but more than that. Someone falling, a scuffle. Dean's hand flies to the gun holstered to his hip, and he whirls around, aiming at-

A man laying under one of the lot lamps. He was curled on his side, and Dean can tell even from the distance between him that he's hurting.  
>The hunter isn't trusting jack shit, the 'hurt, help me' routine is the best way to get someone close enough to attack them. His eyes narrow and he steps forward, gun pointedly aimed at the head that's bent towards jean-clad knees. The man is sitting up now, shaking his head, messy black hair atop it. His face is downcast, and Dean's fucked if he's about to help anything without seeing the man's face.<p>

'Hey, buddy, what're you doin' out here?' His tone brooks no possibility for bullshit. The man is pushing himself into standing now, slow, like he aches all over. Dean asks again, louder. He doesn't want to shoot anyone tonight. All he wanted was to take a drive, listen to his music louder than should be allowed. Instead, he had to deal with a random guy dropping in on his one fucking night.

When the man is standing, Dean stops coming closer, stops moving. Stops breathing. A streak of confusion, hope, anger, _please God don't be fucking with me _rushes through the hunter. He knows this man. Knows those shoulders, that frame, the hair. He knows the hands, everything.

The head raises, and Dean knows. He _knows. _In an instant, he's moving towards the man, tucking the gun back into the holster as he hears the gravelly 'Hello, Dean.'

Blue eyes, five o'clock shadow, jeans and a black tee shirt that says 'party hard' in faded red letters. Perfect lips, long eyelashes, strong arms.

_Castiel_.

Dean lets the sob break in his throat, and pulls the angel-man-whatever to him. It's hard and quick, and he never ever wants to let go. Cas's arms are around him too, holding just as tight, fingers fisted in the back of Dean's shirt. Dean's hands are spread wide on Cas's back, anchoring the smaller man against him as he murmurs over and over again into the tangle of dark hair; 'Cas, Cas_, Cas, oh god Cas.'_

Cas is breathing hard, laughing against Dean's shoulder, a relieved sound full of something like happiness. Dean has never heard a more amazing sound. Not Sammy talking about a hunt, not the purr of the Impala, not Bobby's voice reading out an exorcism. Nothing is more beautiful than this moment with the laughter of an angel between them. Dean's cheeks are wet, whatever, he doesn't even care. He regrets nothing except how long it took him to holster his gun. The ten seconds were ten seconds too many.

'I found you,' Dean hears Castiel murmur, 'I found you. I looked so hard, Father looked _so_ hard, and Dean, _Dean.' _Relief spills from the angel, and Dean needs to know. He needs to know what happened, why Cas is here, what the hell is going on. He inhales deep, anchoring himself to this moment, and catches the scent of Cas, pure and sweet, and the smell of the rain. He doesn't ever want to let go of Cas, but he needs to ask. His hands rest on the shorter man's shoulders, and hold him barely away, their noses inches apart now.

Dean's breath catches at the blue eyes, crinkled with happiness at the corners; looking back at him. 'You're alive,' Dean breathes into the small space between them, 'Cas, what...happened?'

Castiel laughs again. 'Father found me. He came back, he found me. He pulled me from...wherever I was. Dean, he found me. _Father found me._' He sounds amazed at this, like a kid picked first for a sports team that's usually picked last. Dean just breathes in, out, in, out, and asks 'He found you and now what, you're an angel again?'

The hands fisted in the back of his shirt tighten minimally, and the blue_blue_eyes don't leave Dean's as Castiel whispers 'I fell.'

Dean's eyes get wider, not like he thought it was possible. Fell? _Fell?_

'Fell?' Dean didn't understand, pulling away slightly and shaking his head. 'What do you mean, fell?' He knows what it means for an angel to fall. If God found Cas, and Cas fell, then Dean knows that Cas made the choice to fall.

Cas looks exhilarated, like he's just been on a joyride, a rollercoaster, discovered a cure for something terrible.

'I fell, Dean,' the gravelly voice brushes into Dean's mind, forever branding this moment in his memory, 'I fell so I could be with you.'

Then, suddenly, inexplicably, Castiel leans forward, pressing their bodies together, and his lips to Dean's. Fireworks explode in Dean's core, and he groans with relief, with pleasure and a thousand other things; kissing Cas back like the man is water and Dean is dying of thirst.  
>A laugh against chapped lips, something tense and painful inside him breaks, and Dean can breathe again, raising a hand to tangle in the shorter man's dark, unruly hair.<p>

The sky opens with a flash of lightning, a crack of thunder, and Dean just keeps kissing Cas, little pecks alternating with nips at the shorter man's lower lip. His tongue begs entrance, and he groans again at the taste of Cas. It's _Cas_, warm and pliant against him. It was never humid, rain didn't seem likely, and now Dean's glad it's here. It drenches them in a second, water pouring from the sky like a cleansing shower.

Castiel moans into Dean's mouth, and God, it's perfection. It's everything and Dean can't think of anything else. Every detail of his pain and confusion and hatred of his life is gone, replaced by pure want, relief, driven by this man in his arms.

They break apart for breath, tipping their heads back in a mirror of each other to laugh, to look up at the sky. Rain falls down on them, and they're soaked, and together, and Dean can't remember a time when anything was this good.

'For you,' Castiel's voice rings in his ears, and he looks back down at those eyes, that man in his embrace, 'for you, I would fall a thousand times.'

It's all Cas needs to say, and Dean hadn't felt guilty, but he knows he would have. He grins, and rests his forehead against Cas's, just looking, drinking in the blue. They stay there, in the rain, under the lot lamp, just looking. The kiss left Dean's lips warm and with a permanent grin, and he hopes Cas can't tell that between the raindrops are falling tears of utter relief. It's when Castiel shivers against him that Dean realizes that they've been out there for a while, and for a new human, the novelty of rain probably wears off fast.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't need to. Cas is turning away from the embrace, tucking himself under Dean's arm. Dean ignores the cold seeping into his skin where Cas was, and together, they walk back to Dean's room, feeling each other. Dean doesn't know how or why, doesn't care that Cas is a dude, doesn't care. All he knows is that Cas is where he should have been all along, and Dean wouldn't  
>have it any other way.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean knows that without a doubt, the second he has time to think, he's going to freak out. It's not so bad now, really, helping Castiel figure out the cheap, rusted shower workings in the tiny bathroom. The angel-_man_, hadn't stopped shivering after they'd come inside, so Dean figured sticking him in a hot shower would work. Cas isn't used to cold, he'd mumbled this against Dean's chest after they'd gotten inside and Dean had noticed the smaller man still shivering. He hadn't wanted to let go, caught up in the respite from everything confusing, in Castiel's inconceivable realness, his existence, but the man was cold, and Dean knew he himself was gonna need a damn minute pretty soon.

So, he'd grabbed jeans and a shirt from his bag, herded Cas into the bathroom and explained what a shower was. Dean had been aware of the blue eyes tracking him as he explained, and it'd taken everything in him to not strip down and join Cas. The former angel – Dean really needed to get that through his head – had simply watched him, nodding at the right moments, and letting Dean stutter about shampoo for five minutes.

It was strange, Dean thought as he shut the door with a quiet click. Cas was back. He was _back_. It was so unbelievable that even the rush of pure wonderful running through him at Cas's arms around him, lips on his, alive and warm and breathing, even all of that ceased to do much to the weight of everything surrounding the hunter. Dean dropped heavily to sit at the edge of the closest bed, forearms resting on knees as he hunched forward and closed his eyes.

Cas was alive. Back. Dean needed more information, but right now, it was enough. He wasn't thinking about the kiss, he _wasn't_, not the light stubble against his own shaven face, not the taste of world-shattering brilliance on his tongue at the touch of Castiel's, and most certainly not that Dean had been all too aware that only jeans and slacks separated him from being against something he was most definitely not used to. He was _not_, and he was even more not when his mind turned to Cas in the shower, probably staring with a head-tilt at the droplets of water clinging to his pale skin, running down his chest and lightly hair-dusted stomach, caressing his hipbones and brushing like feather light fingertips down muscular, powerful thighs. Dean shakes his head, because _seriously_, and turns his mind away from the very naked and curious man in the shower with a forceful mental scolding that has him remembering his father's admonishments over the years.

Dean ducks his head into his hands and rubs his eyes. Not an hour ago and he had been laying on the bed he sat at the edge of now, dwelling and missing everyone and hating everything, not caring about where he was headed, not wanting to remember where he came from. So much could change in an hour, and Dean calms his reeling mind, focussing sternly away from the kiss, and onto the inexplicable event of God being alive. God is _alive_. And active, given that out of thousands of lost angels that Dean knew of, He chose Castiel to raise from wherever he was from.

He files that away in his mind, somewhere secret, to ask Cas about where he went, what happened. A slight streak of anger at what had ended Cas in the first place before Dean reminds himself that the then-angel had only been trying to help. Leviathan had changed him, twisted him into something dark and cold and terrifying, and Dean just keeps reminding himself until the nausea at the memory of looking into the eyes that no longer shone with human curiosity and determination is gone. It does no good to think about that now, though Dean knows they'll need to talk about it at some point. He groans into his palms and squeezes his eyes shut, fending off weariness.

The entire thing is insane. God is alive. Which means they have a shot at fixing Sam, at stopping Dick, at ending this war once and for all. It was still going strong beneath the surface, Dean could recognize the signs of angels and demons pushing and rallying against each other for the upper hand. The storms and murders and fires and death spraying across the globe like blood from a headshot. It's a morbid thought, but Dean thinks it's perfectly adequate a description for the whole shebang. It never ends, though. First it was finding Dad, then saving Sam's ass, then his own, then angels and fucking demons, the Devil and Michael and fucking Zachariah, and Eve, and-

Dean needs a damn drink. He won't, of course, because Sammy will be back at some point – the kid probably holed up in some cheap diner to get out of the rain – and Dean's not about to get drunk off his ass with a new human in the next room, still naked and-

_Not_ going down that path until he deals with the rest of it. Dean spares a glance at the clock, huffs a sigh when he realizes he's not getting any sleep tonight, and stands to pace the length of the small room.

So, God's up and kickin'. There's that. Cas is back. Another bonus. Not the lottery, but Dean will take it because in his opinion, it's better. Sammy is still falling apart, Bobby is still dead, and Dick is still wandering around destroying things because he can. The only real solution is to find God. Dean almost laughs, turning on his heel and walking back to the other side of the room. God won't help them. He didn't before, told them by proxy to stop looking and everything. Eventually, there had been nothing to do but give up.

Then again, He had never given Dean anything. In fact, the Lord hadn't really giveth so much as he had taketh away. Having Cas back, and, now that Dean thinks about it, the Impala, he did a mental double take at the possibility that this time, they weren't supposed to give up. Small things, a man and a car, insignificant to the all powerful deity that had abandoned the world, but to Dean, it was almost his world. His baby brother was alive, and even though he was pretty much past cracked at this point, Dean considered that a point too. All that was missing was Bobby, and after tonight, Dean wouldn't be surprised if at some point, the old man would pop into the backseat with a "Hey, Idjits," and a bottle of Jack.

A smile touches itself to Dean's lips, wry and almost conceivably amused. It would be great, but he's not going to hold out hope. Hope is for the people who have homes and families and bomb shelters with cans of beans. Hope has never been for hunters who live in cars and shady motels, eating pie and whatever diner food looked the least food-poisoning-related. There was sheer dumb luck, results produced by fighting until your knuckles were bloody and your lip was split, but not really much hope.

A ring startles Dean out of his whirling mind, away from pie and God and naked former-angels (which, now that he thinks about it, is probably something else he and Cas will need to deal with) and Bobby. He leans back, digging in his pocket for his phone, and it's Sam, no one else would call him, so he answers with a cheerful "Get the fuck back here."

"What happened?" Sam's voice is tinny through the speaker; Dean _really_needs a new phone. "Just get back here," he says, not quite willing to part with himself being the only one in Cas's world just yet, "Where are you?" Dean can hear someone crooning in the background _'There's a tear in my beer, and I'm cryin' for you dear_', and he guesses at the same time Sam answers, "Bar about five miles out heading East. The one shaped like a giant cowboy hat. Don't suppose you feel like coming to get me?"

Dean casts a glance towards the bathroom door, the water still running behind it. At this very moment, Dean would absolutely not leave this room for anything. Not even to save his brother from a giant hat. A few moments later, maybe, but not this one. "C'mon, Princess, you jogged there, you can jog back."  
>Sam sighs, "Dean, get the hell over here," Dean can almost hear the bitchface through the phone, and Sam mutters something unintelligible and then asks "How long are you gonna be?"<p>

Dean rolls his eyes and gives the kid some of the bitch back - he had bigger things to think about than the logic behind running with a computer - "Long enough for you to order me some pie. Actually, get dinner. Burgers or something. I'll be there in half an hour."

"Dean, it's 4am. Breakfast?" Sammy sounds as though he's talking to a very stupid child, and Dean hears the thinly veiled tolerance behind it, like something is irking Sam but he's not about to spill. Not Dean, something bigger, and it occurs to him that Sam wouldn't ask for a ride unless something was up. "You okay, Sammy?" Dean's voice drops into serious, big brother, all gunpowder and leather and _get your hands off my baby brother_. Sam sighs, the sound crackles through the cheap speaker, and then he's saying "No, m'fine. Pie and normal food. I'll see you in a half an hour." The line is dead before Dean can say anything, and he clicks the phone closed with an irritated shake of the head.

"And he says I'm the one who never lets people in." Dean snorts into the quiet darkness of the room, and it occurs to him that the water has stopped. Cas had been in there for nearly half an hour, and Dean wonders briefly how he hadn't run out of hot water yet. The door remains shut, and minutes pass, and Dean gets sort of worried after a while. There's no sound of movement, and normally Dean would chill and let someone in the bathroom do their thing, but for all intents and purposes, Cas is a baby.  
><em>His baby<em>.

Nuh, no, no freaking way Dean did not just call Castiel his baby. His baby was the Impala. Cas could be anything but. Well. Cas could be...

Dean shakes his head and claps a hand to the side of his neck when it twinges from the vehement denial of his sudden ridiculous thoughts. He stands and strides to the bathroom door, shoving his cell in his pocket as he goes, hesitating for barely a moment before he raps his knuckles against the frame. A soft "Dean?" from inside, and Dean is pushing open the door, slipping into the steam filled room and trying not to stare. Castiel is standing in front of the mirror, naked, wet, and looking confused.

"Cas," Dean says hoarsely, and it's not a question or an observation, he's not quite sure what it is, but Cas is tilting his head and looking up at the hunter like Dean's eyes have all the answers for his endless questions, "Cas, you...you need to put on some clothes." Dean is keeping his eyes strictly above waist level because if he doesn't, he's honestly not sure how he'll react. Confronted with a naked woman and he's fine. He has no problem navigating that water. But a naked man, especially Castiel... It's hot and overwhelming and he's still not dealing with the unusual number of dicks in this situation. It's usually his and that's it, and God, Cas is beautiful.

Dean can't do this now because he has to go get Sam in twenty minutes, and Cas is moving closer and Dean's not gonna do a thing to stop him because why would he? Whatever, he can deal with the lack of tits, and the definite hardness of the lines of Castiel where a woman would be soft, if Cas just keeps looking at him like that; with wonder and curiosity and thinly veiled understanding that he's feeling want for Dean. He stops less than a foot away from the hunter, and now Dean's fingers are tracing Cas's jaw line, curling around as his thumb sweeps the shorter man's bottom lip. He's cradling the stubbled cheek against his palm just looking, watching as Cas's gaze travels across his face, he has the distinct feeling of being visually memorized. Not that Dean minds. Cas's tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and something inside Dean snaps, everything in him is pulling him back from holding Cas against him, lifting him to the counter and ravishing him until the former-angel is crying out and keening Dean's name.

This sudden powerful want aches in him, and he remembers a time when it wasn't like this. When his attraction to Cas had been nothing more than a confused strike of arousal in Dean's conscious. Dean had ignored it as he fought beside the angel, forced himself to see brotherhood between them, and lost himself in whatever he could find in bars and roadside stops. Now, though, he doesn't understand how it was possible to push this aside. It's like a fire in him, and as Castiel steps closer, his breath punches out of him in a rush. "Cas." He sounds broken, like a dying man, someone who dedicated his whole life to a riddle he could never solve.

Castiel moves against him, and this time, it's slow. Dean holds himself in check and breathes out slow, because _there will always be time for fast._He doesn't want anything to scare Castiel. He knows the man was an angel once, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to shelter him from everything, even Dean himself. His arms wind around Cas, fingertips gliding over skin slick with water, and when they brush his shoulder blades, Castiel full body shudders against Dean, fingers clenching against the hunter's shirt-clad chest, and makes a noise that shoots straight through the hunter and curls low and hot in his belly.

"Need to remember that," Dean rumbles, inches away from kissing Cas again, from that taste of world-shattering brilliance, "Remind me to take my time there next time." Cas nods, regards him both like this is the most serious thing he will ever remember for Dean, and like he wants to crawl all over Dean and touch his everywhere, explore his everything. It's an appealing look, almost distraction, and Dean will definitely try to make him do it more often. Right now, though, he's moving slow, steady, and pausing just before their lips meet. It's a moment like a drum roll, where everything in the world zeroes down to the lips a breath away from his, the heat pressed against his front, the hair tickling the fingertips of the hand between Cas's shoulder blades. It's a lead up to something wonderful, and the breath before the connection is full of static.

Their lips meet, and a spark ignites in Dean again, but he tamps it down, taking it slow as he licks gently across Cas's lower lip. Castiel's lips part beneath his and another noise, soft and amazed, passes into the kiss. Dean's fingers are alive against the wet skin beneath them, pressing, exploring the smoothness, like soft marble, yet destructible. The fragility reminds him of his own, and he thinks, fleetingly, that this is one of two things he would die to protect.

Castiel's hands are splayed on Dean's chest, wide and bracing, and he curls his fingers slightly when Dean's tongue slips through his lips, stroking along the roof of his mouth, tasting him. Dean knows Cas can feel his heartbeat speed up when he strokes a thumb along a shoulder blade languidly and Cas spills a deep moan into the hunter's mouth, his hips move slightly, just barely, against Dean's. It's good, and the kiss is deep and soft and questing, and Dean is feeling the tingle of arousal; Cas is half-hard against him.

Dean breaks away to inhale properly, after endless moments, and hears Cas do the same. His eyes open, and he really needs to wrest for control to stop, because they need to go get Sam and, and _God_, Cas is panting through parted, wet lips, Dean knows if they don't stop now, they won't. Cas has been human for too short a time to be doing this now, in a motel bathroom, surrounded by cracked tile and peeling wallpaper. Dean leans in again, and brushes his lips softly against Cas's again, a parting remembrance, a promise.

As if on cue, Dean's cell rings, vibrating in his pocket. Castiel startles, slants his gaze down and then back up. Dean pulls away reluctantly, and presses another quick, soft kiss, this time to Castiel's forehead. "Clothes, Cas, we hafta go pick Sam up," Dean instructs, and to his relief, Cas is smiling at him, nodding and looking like a coy schoolgirl as he reaches for the jeans on the counter. Dean slips out of the room and takes a deep breath, centers himself as much as possible before flipping his phone open.

"Be there in ten, dude," Dean hopes Sam can't tell that he's still out of breath; his voice pitched an octave too high. "Oh, ew, Dean," Sam sounds affronted, and Dean's brain clicks to what his brother obviously thought, and of _course_ Sam can tell.  
>"No, I. No. Listen, we'll be there in ten. Order if you haven't already, and shut up." Dean snaps his phone closed before Sammy can start asking questions like '<em>What were you doing, then?'<em>or _'We? Who's we, Dean?'_

Cas comes out of the bathroom dressed in Dean's jeans and an old shirt with a 'rock on' symbol splashed across it, faded blue against black, the casualness contrasting oddly with the dress shoes. Dean grins, and reaches out to clap Cas on the shoulder, hand lingering as he looks the man up and down, "You look just like one of us now, man. No more tax accountant getup."  
>Cas is returning his smile, eyes crinkling with amusement. His eyes drift past Dean to the bed, eyes changing to curiousity, and Dean follows his gaze, turning and cursing, moving forward to snatch the worn trenchcoat from the messy bedspread.<p>

"Uh." Dean feels like an ass, and he doubts Cas wants to be reminded of the time he was an angel, what he gave up to be here; and don't even start on the embarrassment about the fact that Dean kept Castiel's grungy old coat to sleep with. He falters when Cas steps forward, hands starting at Dean's upper arms and sliding down, pressing reassurance against his skin. "Dean. I gave it up for a reason. It's a fond memory." Cas blinks up at him, all placid relief in the dark room, "But I liked the memories of the Impala and you and Sam and being here with books and sunsets from the ground point of view." He swallows, as though he's about to say something embarrassing, and Dean urges him on with a nod, and tosses the coat back onto the bed.

"More than I liked the memories of being worlds away from you, fighting battles I knew I would lose." Cas looks away, and Dean is bending to catch his eye, much like he did in the Green Room of Heaven, "Cas."  
>Castiel looks up again, reluctance in his gaze, but that softens when Dean murmurs, "You did all you could. And you're here now. That's good enough." Because really, it was good enough. And despite the circles his head is spinning, Dean believes that in this moment, and the next several, it will be good enough. It always will be. It was more than him and Sam now, and Dean didn't expect things to miraculously be easy, but it would be better. His night had done a 180, and he was alright with that.<p>

"Now, c'mon," Dean straightens, breaks the moment before he gets distracted again, "Sam is gonna pitch a major bitchfit if we don't go get him."

Cas is nodding, as though he remembers Sam's every transgression and failure in terms of keeping his complaints in, and Dean can't help but laugh. Cas probably does remember, and it's gonna be great having him around. Really great.

As they leave the room and head for the Impala, Dean glances around at the post-storm lot. The lights shine against the water and reflect back sparkles that make Dean blink. A little less than an hour ago, he was standing in the pool of one of those lights, holding on to something like he was afraid of drowning in the sky.

A morbid thought, and Cas pulls him out of it by saying "We found the right motel, then," and Dean takes a moment of _what?_ before he realizes that Cas is gesturing at the Impala, and _oh._ "That...That was you?" He sounds surprised, but really, who else could it have been? Castiel nods, and trails his fingers along the top as he heads to the passenger's side, "Technically it was my Father. I was still...recovering, and he took the opportunity to find you and return her. He said..."

Suddenly, from somewhere deep in Dean's mind, came a quote, pulled from a locked place, somewhere Dean wasn't sure he knew existed before now. It rings through his mind and time slows for a second; he hears the memory of trying to find refuge, trying to make sense of life, of the way good things disappear and bad things take their place. "_Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it."_A flash of Cas sleeping in the backseat, recovering on Bobby's couch, dozing with his forehead pressed to the window of the passenger side, breath fogging a little patch under his parted lips.

Dean shakes his head and reaches out a hand to steady himself, fingers clumsily finding Castiel's shoulder. The former-angel had come to stand in front of him, his expression perplexed and worried, "Dean? Are you..." Dean nods before Cas even asks, blinking rapidly. He's fine, but that was a doozy. "Man, tell your dad to tone it down to a five before tuning his guitar next time." Cas just looks even more confused at this statement, and Dean shakes his head once more, then mirrors the shorter man's grip, "I think He just said something to me. About...hospitality and uh," he pauses, cocking his head, "Showing hospitality to angels?"

Cas is nodding, a smile breaking the concern on his face, "Hebrews 13:2. He means to thank you, it seems." Dean is nodding, unsure of how to deal with friggin' _God _busting through his noggin to deliver a thank you card, "Dude, a fruit basket would have been nice." Dean pulls the keys from his pocket with his free hand and nods to his Baby –the Impala, dammit– and Cas lets him go with a reassuring squeeze.

When they're in the car, she's started and rumbling under Dean, around him, like a finely oiled machine –because let's face it, that's exactly what she is- Castiel turns to him and asks, "Do you think Sam will be upset with my presence?" Dean hopes not, because it's not like Cas is going anywhere, "Man, I doubt it. Either way, you're not going anywhere. He'll deal."

Then Cas is nodding, and Dean is once again grateful that he takes so much of what the hunter says, believes and trusts the him no matter what. Even in the moments when Dean was off his rocker, reckless with the desire to save everything, Cas had either accepted it, or calmly explained how it wouldn't work. Dean, in this moment, contemplates back to the very second he saw Castiel, a tiny, insignificant man storm through barn doors and smash lights and take bullets. Everything leading up to this very moment, to them eating up white lines on the pavement, meeting his brother, a confusing electric spark between them, every single thing has been worth fighting for. Many are lost, and the ache doesn't still in Dean's chest for them, but right now, glancing over and seeing Castiel's face quiet and reflective, it makes him inhale deep and hold it.

He doesn't want these moments to end, the ones with Cas in the bathroom, in the car, in the rain. But they do, and somehow, Dean knows that's okay.

Regardless of the fight and the tears and everything painful and sharp in between Castiel saying "_I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition'_and now, every last detail, it's been worth it. This, this car, this state, this hour with this man, his family waiting for him in the diner he's turning in to, all of this is exactly where Dean was meant to be.


End file.
